


cosmic

by janewestin



Series: cosmos [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Schitt's Creek, The Devil Wears Prada (2006), The Parent Trap (1998)
Genre: AU, CROSSOVER CONTENT, Crossover trash, F/F, One Shot, Subreality, Vignettes, Whump, subreality cafe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:37:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janewestin/pseuds/janewestin
Summary: some one shots!(inspired by the vignette collection of JustLikeAPapercut. thank you again :) )want to see something specific? comment with a prompt and I’ll write it!
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Series: cosmos [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541275
Comments: 124
Kudos: 256





	1. rally

1: rally 

Caroline plays racquetball.

Andy learns this the day after Thanksgiving. She’s late to drinks with Cassidy and Trixie (who, as she suspected, got on like a house on fire immediately after meeting). Cassidy is considering a tattoo. Miranda will be horrified.

“What on _ earth _ are you wearing?” Cassidy shouts at her, trying to make herself heard over Justin Bieber insisting that his mother likes everyone.

Andy looks down at her Nike dress. Okay, it’s little odd, especially considering that she’s got joggers beneath it and a puffer jacket on top, but her match had started late and she hadn’t had time to shower. 

“She plays racquetball,” Trixie shouts back to Cassidy, grinning. 

Cassidy cracks up.

*

Caroline doesn’t talk during their first match. She serves hard and returns harder, the ball narrowly missing Andy’s face no fewer than three times. Andy wins, but not by much.

*

_ thock _

“So you’re” _ thock _ “dating my mom.”

_ thock _

_ thock _

_ thock _

“Um.”

_ thock thock thock _

_ “ _Yeah. I guess I am. Fault.”

*

In January, Andy forgets her goggles. They drink smoothies at the juice bar instead.

“I got a racquetball scholarship, you know,” Caroline says. She eschews straws. There’s mango smoothie on her upper lip. 

“Oh yeah?” Andy glances down at the players who have taken the court in their stead. One of them is named Brian, she thinks.

Caroline licks the smoothie off. “Mom wouldn’t let me take it.”

Andy’s eyes flick back. Caroline is gazing at her levelly.

“Just so you know,” she says, and tosses her cup in the trash.

*

Caroline wins the next three matches.

*

“You and my sister still working on that paper?”

Andy swings her racquet. “One of them. Yep.”

Point Andy. Point Andy. Point Caroline.

“How many others has she written?”

Point Caroline.

“Two. One published.” Point Andy. “One accepted. No print date yet.”

Point Caroline, and Andy dodges as the ball nearly clips her forehead.

“Oops. Sorry.”

*

In February, Cassidy shows up to watch them play. 

“Nice shorts,” she says to Andy, whose workout apparel is apparently a source of constant amusement. She waves to them from the juice bar at intervals. Giant, goofy grin. It’s the first time during a match that Caroline smiles.

*

Andy has to cancel a match because of a work meeting in late March. Caroline doesn’t talk to her for a week.

*

By the end of May, Caroline is winning consistently. Andy has played for longer, but Caroline is thirteen years her junior and about forty-five times springier. They double their play time, to Brian’s chagrin.

*

Cassidy’s final paper gets accepted, pending revisions, in early August. She tells Caroline before their match. Caroline wins. She smiles the whole time.

*

“You’re going to Paris with us.” As they walk out of the gym into the late summer heat.

“Yeah,” Andy says nervously. Miranda had said she would tell Caroline. Andy didn’t realize she’d meant _ that day _.

There’s a long silence. Caroline shuffles her feet. Shifts her gym bag on her shoulder.

At last: “Cool,” and Andy nearly falls over with relief. Then actually does trip over her feet when Caroline adds “And, um. I’m glad we’re friends.”

***


	2. until death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: the dog dies. sorry dudes

2\. until death 

The second day Patricia doesn’t eat, Miranda knows the end is near.

She hasn’t been able to do much but plod from her bed to her food bowl and back again. At twelve, she is absolutely ancient for a St. Bernard. It’s a testament to excellent veterinary care and a reliable dog walker that she’s lived as long as she has.

It isn’t even that she _ likes _ the dog that much. She’d purchased her as a Hanukkah gift for the girls, though she herself cares very little for pets of any variety. But Cassidy had moved out, and then Caroline, and Patricia remained. The _ whuff _ of her breath and the tumbleweeds of fur have become a comfortable backdrop for late nights with the Book. 

Patricia doesn’t like _ her _ much, either, preferring the company of the dog walkers (although of late, there is less walking, and more _ sitting _ and _ patting _), and of the cook, who tosses her scraps when she thinks Miranda isn’t looking. 

The veterinarian offers to come to Miranda’s home, to dose Patricia with one final medication in her own bed. The thought is unbearable. She has Patricia removed to the vet’s office, carried by two uniformed men on a stretcher large enough for a human. 

Cassidy is in Denver at a conference. Caroline meets her at the office. Holds Patricia’s shaggy, white-muzzled head as she takes a final breath. Caroline cries. Miranda doesn’t.

When Andrea’s text message lights her phone, she is ensconced in the library, scribbling furiously in the Book and trying not to hear the silence. There’s no reason to tell her about Patricia. She does anyway.

An hour later the doorbell rings. It’s late. She’s not expecting anyone. She gets up.

Knit hat in the peephole, an oversized scarf. Wide, sad brown eyes. Flowers. 

“I’m so sorry,” Andrea says, stepping inside without being invited. Her breath warm on Miranda’s neck as she steps in for a hug that Miranda did not know she needed.

She didn’t even like Patricia, but she cries, all the same. 

***


	3. double down

3\. double down

“Always split aces and eights,” Trixie instructs, patting the table in front of Andy’s cards.

“I don’t—that means more money, right?” Andy slides the top eight to the right and places two more chips next to it. 

“For someone so smart,” Cassidy says, watching Trixie place a ten and then a four on top of Andy’s pair of eights, “you are  _ really _ bad at this.”

Andy gives her a Look. “I don’t like gambling.”

“This is not gambling,” Cassidy says. “This is  _ probability _ .”

“I am not a scientist,” Andy says, reverting to her work script. “Hit me.”

“You have to do the—” Caroline sweeps her forefinger across the table. 

“ _ Why _ ?” Andy says, tapping near her twelve. 

Trixie places a five on top of the four. “Because of the cameras. Seventeen.”

“We’re at home,” Andy points out. 

“We won’t be in two weeks,” Caroline says. “Hurry up.”

“Uh.” Andy taps again. “Hit.”

Cassidy groans. “Wrong.”

“Are you sure you want your bachelorette party in  _ Vegas _ ?” Andy says, as Trixie places a jack on top of Andy’s cards and sweeps her chips away.


	4. after hours

4\. after hours

Balloons.

Miranda opens the door and all over the floor are  _ balloons _ . 

“What on  _ earth _ ,” she murmurs, although she already knows. 

“Happy birthday!” comes the bright shout from upstairs. Andrea clatters down the steps, fully made up despite the hour, even wearing heels. 

“Balloons,” Miranda manages to say, just before Andrea dives into her arms. 

*

She finds Andrea asleep in front of the fireplace, her iPad still playing an episode of some insipid hour-long drama. The room is absolutely stifling. Andrea had been as excited as a child about the first snowfall. Residue of her Midwestern upbringing, Miranda supposes. 

She switches the fire off. Andrea is wrapped snugly in two thick blankets. Her cheeks are pink from the heat. That couch isn’t meant for sleeping; she will be an aching mess in the morning if Miranda doesn’t wake her up.

“Andrea.” Gentle touch to her shoulder.

Nothing.

She strokes Andrea’s hair back from her face. Repeats her name.

Andrea shifts. Curve of a smile even before her eyes open. “Welcome home,” she says. 

*

_ Have to head out, I’m afraid. Early meeting tomorrow. Sorry I missed you. See you tomorrow. _

  
  


*

They’re on opposite sides of the couch, looking like mirror images with their laptops. Both wearing glasses, although Cassidy has a pen stuck into hers. 

“About time,” Cassidy says, taking the pen out and dropping it into her open messenger bag. “Let’s eat.”

“You’re always late.” Caroline is scowling.

Andrea comes out of the kitchen with a dish towel over one shoulder. “Girls,” she says, “be nice to your mother.”

*

She’s somehow never irritated at Miranda’s unpredictable schedule, never angry. She doesn’t always stay, but her wide eyes never turn reproachful. 

On Friday night, Miranda doesn’t arrive at the townhouse until after eleven. It’s dark. Silent. Andrea hadn’t texted to say that she was leaving, and her coat is still hanging on the hook. Miranda takes her shoes off and ascends to the fourth floor as quietly as possible. 

Andrea had stopped sleeping in Cassidy’s old room at the end of summer. Miranda had considered telling her that she slept better alone. She held her tongue and was glad; it wasn’t true, after all.

The lights are off. Miranda can hear Andrea’s breathing. Slow and even. Waiting. Waiting, and never angry.

She undresses quietly. Pulls back the duvet. Slides carefully between the sheets. Andrea murmurs in her sleep, rolls over. Warm hand on Miranda’s waist. 

Miranda stares up into the darkness. Next week, she will not be late.


	5. omens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry I HAD TO hehehe

5\. omens

“What on _ earth _ is this noise?” Miranda asked, when Andy plugged her iPhone into the auxiliary jack that had suddenly appeared in the Bentley.

Andy grinned. “Freddie Mercury,” she said.

*

“It’s Caroline,” Andy said.

“No,” Miranda said. “Cassidy.”

The hellhound was decidedly unhelpful, as it had taken one look at each twin and decided it was equally in love with both of them. Unfortunately, both twins had taken a shine to St. Bernards.

“We have eight days,” Andy pointed out. “If we don’t figure it out by then—”

“Your insistence on stating the obvious is becoming tedious,” Miranda said, replacing her sunglasses on her nose. “It is _ clearly _ Cassidy. Look what she’s done to the student council elections.”

Andy gave her a blank stare. “She—she _ organized _ them.” 

“Precisely,” Miranda said coolly. “What better evidence of demonic influence than the institution of politics at a primary school level?”

Caroline, in a snit, removed the labels from every can in the house two days later.

“See?” Andy said triumphantly.

*

Miranda had the most beautiful flowers in New York City. They were on every surface of her house: verdant, luscious, lovely. She had heard something on the radio in the early seventies about the benefits of talking to plants, and thought it was an excellent idea. Although talking was probably the wrong word for what Miranda did. In addition to this, every couple of months, she’d pick up a plant which had failed to bloom, or was turning brown at the edges of its leaves, and murmur: “Is there truly no end to your incompetence? Is it so difficult, so _ massively _ complicated, to _ grow properly _? Am I asking for the world here?” Then she would carry the offending plant out of the townhouse and return a few minutes later with an empty pot. She had the most beautiful flowers in New York City, and also the most terrified.

*

Andy had had a flaming phone at one point. It was a Bang and Olufsen, but she’d given it away.


	6. a nice day for a schitt wedding

6\. a nice day for a schitt wedding

“My cousin is getting married,” Andy comes out of the bathroom with her toothbrush in her mouth and her phone in her hand. 

“Congratulations,” Miranda says absently, not looking up from her computer.

*

“May fifteenth,” Andy says, handing Miranda the save-the-date card.

Miranda looks down, then back up at Andy with a blank expression. 

“My cousin, remember?” Andy knows she doesn’t, but sort of enjoys the guilt that flashes across Miranda’s face. 

“Yes,” Miranda says quickly, “of course.” 

“Can you go?” Andy places the rest of the mail on the counter and goes to the fridge. She’s expecting Miranda’s polite demurral, so she lingers in front of to-go containers and bottles of Pellegrino to keep from betraying her disappointment.

“Mm.” Andy hears the sound of the card being tapped lightly on the counter. “Probably.”

Surprise trumps hunger, as it turns out. 

*

“There’s no first class.” Cristina is already cringing as she delivers the news. 

The only indication of Miranda’s displeasure is an infinitesimal widening of her eyes. “Surely not,” she says, her voice completely even.

Cristina looks as though she would like to pull her head all the way into her shoulders and do a cartoon-pop out of existence. “I’m so sorry.”

“Business class,” Andy suggests quickly, glancing from poor Cristina’s terrified expression to Miranda’s imminent-rage one. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Cristina fumbles her phone. “Yes! Right here!” The sheer gratitude in her expression makes Andy think she should probably have lunch at Runway more often.

*

“I think the next one might actually be a propeller plane,” Andy says cheerfully, hoisting both of their carry-on bags on her shoulders. 

Miranda rakes one hand through disheveled silver locks and glares.

*

“You can’t be serious,” Miranda says.

Andy’s grin is so wide it threatens to climb right off her face. “No Four Seasons in Schitt’s Creek, I’m afraid.”

“Surely the next town—”

“Elmdale?” Andy interrupts. She shakes her head, still grinning. “You don’t want to stay there. They’ve got a Holiday Inn Express, but half of it had to be closed for asbestos remediation.” She climbs out of the tiny rental car and comes around to Miranda’s side to open her door. 

Miranda puts one foot onto the gravel, then the other. She stands up very, very slowly. Takes in the scuffed letters over the smeared office door. The vending machine with its faded, outdated soda logo. The cheap plastic lawn chairs in front of doors that open directly into the parking lot. 

Something changes in her expression. Andy wouldn’t have noticed it had she not spent the past eight months as a diligent student of Miranda’s moods. 

“Well then,” she says, and Andy sees the tiny shift in the set of her mouth. The minuscule lift of her chin. The way her spine pulls straight.

The indifferent young woman at the front desk might be Tom Ford at New York Fashion Week. Miranda’s dazzling smile is the same, and Andy couldn’t be more proud.

*

Ted had warned Andy that there was a tiny, itty-bitty, mouse-sized chance that his fiancée’s family would recognize Miranda. Andy’s used to the occasional paparazzi photo, the enthusiastic would-be designer excitedly shoving a sheaf of drawings in Miranda’s face on the sidewalk between the town car and Elias-Clarke. 

There’s a loud, panicked squeak. Andy turns. Miranda is pulling the door to their room closed. She turns, too. 

Two doors down, a dark-haired guy in what appears to be a sweater dress falls over.

“_ God, _ David _ ! _ ” hisses the young woman beside him, flapping both hands at him in distressed annoyance. “Get up! She’ll _ see _ you!” She’s wearing an outsized pair of sunglasses that look almost exactly like Miranda’s. 

Andy thinks she’s not going to be able to stop grinning for probably the next week and a half. 

*

The menu keeps unfolding, and unfolding, and unfolding. By the fourth page, Miranda’s eyebrow has crept halfway up her forehead. But when the sunny-faced waitress appears to take their order, Miranda just smiles gracefully and orders vegetable soup.

*

When they get back to the motel, David is sitting in one of the plastic chairs outside his room. 

“I just wanted to tell you,” he stammers, lunging awkwardly toward Miranda, “that the Ann Demeulemeester spread three years ago was—was _ life-changing _.” And falls over again.

*

The carpet is threadbare, but the room is spotless and the bed surprisingly comfortable. Andy only has to ask Mr. Rose for towels three times.

*

When Andy wakes up the next morning, the bed is empty, and splinters of sunlight splash through a gap in the patterned curtains. 

She stretches. “Miranda?”

No answer. The bathroom door is open. 

Where, she thinks, would Miranda go in a town like this? 

She looks out the window, but can only see the parking lot. Cracks the door. Sticks her head out. 

Miranda’s at a picnic table in the grass at the end of the parking lot. Sitting across from her is a blond woman. Red lipstick—must be Alexis’s mother. The woman’s sequined pantsuit sparkles madly in the early morning sun. 

As Andy watches, the woman lifts her coffee mug at Miranda and says something Andy can’t hear. Miranda laughs. Raises her own mug, and taps it lightly against the woman’s. 

Andy closes the door again. Smiles.

*

Andy isn’t in the wedding, but she and Miranda are invited to the rehearsal dinner anyway. 

“We wanted to have it at our place,” Ted says apologetically, as the cafe fills with people, “but the guest list got. Well. A little out of control.”

“It’s great,” Andy says, looking around at the paper streamers arcing from corner to corner. She means it. 

“You’ve met David,” Ted adds, to Miranda, and Alexis rolls her eyes.

“He practically fell in her _ lap,” _she says. 

David sputters. Patrick pats his arm.

*

Miranda’s a little slower getting out of bed the next morning, and one hand goes to her back as she rises. Not a single word of complaint passes her lips, which is why Andy pushes her back down and gives her an extra-long massage.

*

Lhullier is too much for a small-town wedding, but Andy fell in love with the rose-gold, appliquéd gown, and Miranda had bought it for her on the spot. 

“You look lovely.” Miranda comes up behind Andy and puts both hands on her waist. Bends to kiss her neck.

Andy turns in her arms. “You ain’t so bad yourself,” she says, and laughs at Miranda’s shudder.

*

Miranda is very still during the ceremony. But as Ted and Alexis recite their vows, she reaches over and takes Andy’s hand.

***


	7. something old

7\. something old

  
On the third dress, Cassidy looked down at herself and made a face. “This isn’t working,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” Andy said. “You look amazing.”

Beside her, Caroline groaned. “Don’t do it,” she said.

“It’s just—” Cassidy smoothed the sparkling fabric, then swiveled on the pedestal and examined her back in the three-way mirror, her expression all discontent.

Caroline pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t do it,” she repeated.

Andy looked from Caroline to Cassidy, who literally looked like royalty. “What on earth is wrong with it?” 

Cassidy’s freckled nose wrinkled. She turned the other way and scowled.

“She’s going to do it,” Caroline said to Andy. She sighed heavily.

Cassidy hitched up the prodigious skirt, hopped off the pedestal, and marched back toward the dressing room. “We’re done here,” she called over her shoulder.

Caroline flopped over on the velvet loveseat and put an arm over her eyes.

*

“Your mom’s going to kill you,” Andy said with amusement. The consignment shop had no place to sit, so Andy shifted from foot to foot outside the purple-curtained dressing rooms. Caroline was shuffling through a nearby row of miscellany.

“I gotta do me,” Cassidy sang.

“You could literally have any wedding dress you want,” Caroline pointed out, pulling a fuzzy houndstooth sweater off the rack and grimacing at it. “She’d have one _made_ for you, if you asked.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said, “but would it look like this?” She threw the curtain open.

Andy burst out laughing. It had puffy shoulders, and tight sleeves, and an enormous bateau skirt. Giant rhinestones sparkled at the bodice.

“I look exactly like Ariel, don’t I,” Cassidy said, grinning.

“You—you do,” Andy managed.

“Caro!” Cassidy swished toward her sister. “What do you think? Perfect, right?”

Caroline just shook her head.

*

“Please tell me this is some kind of colossal joke,” Miranda said in horror, zooming in on the photo.

“‘Fraid not,” Andy said. “Despite Caroline’s best efforts.”

“She got this from—from a _secondhand establishment_?” Miranda’s tone made it sound like Cassidy had yanked the wedding dress off a dead body. She handed Andy’s phone back.

“I believe the terminology they prefer is luxury vintage,” Andy corrected, biting her tongue to keep from laughing.

“_Luxury_,” Miranda repeated, sounding traumatized.

*


	8. let's get together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know with this one haha. Blame Disney+ I guess.

8\. let’s get together

_Miranda _

_ 2006 _

It was over before it had begun, and who could really be surprised? It was a bad idea. It had _ always _ been a bad idea. But Andrea had walked toward Miranda in Paris instead of away, and despite the fact that Miranda was nearly twice her age and her _ boss— _she shuddered, later, when she thought of it—she had entangled herself first in Miranda’s sheets, and then in her life. 

Six months. Six months of Andrea’s fervent confessions of love. Of Miranda’s every resolve crumbling as Andrea described the life they would build together. She wanted children, and she wanted them with Miranda. 

There was one embryo. One, frozen twelve years prior, when Miranda was thirty-two. It had just never been the right time.

It took. 

Two tiny flickers on the grayscale screen. Andrea’s doe eyes enormous with shock as the ultrasound wand moved gently over her stomach. 

“Twins,” she’d breathed, her fingers tightening on Miranda’s. _ “Twins _.”

By the time Andrea bought her first maternity top, it had started to unravel. Miranda staying late at work. Andrea crying on the couch when she got home. The fighting. She was so young. _ God _, she was so young. 

What had she been _ thinking _?

By the time the twins reached viability, they both had attorneys. Andrea’s salary at Auto Universe would barely have paid for a personal-injury lawyer. There were children to consider, which was why Andrea acquiesced to Miranda paying the bills. 

Endless paperwork. Hours of meetings. Tears, and not just Andrea’s. 

By thirty-two weeks, Andrea had moved out. By thirty-six, they spoke only through the lawyers. Miranda wasn’t permitted in the delivery suite.

The papers were signed. The attorneys departed. 

Miranda fumbled clumsily with the straps of the car seat. Hoisted tiny Caroline, and walked out of Andrea Sachs’s life for good.

*

_ 2018 _

She’d gotten a text from Emily that morning: the return flight was delayed. Mechanical issues, or something equally annoying. She should have chartered a jet.

“_ No _ , Mother,” Caroline had snapped, when she suggested it for the flight out. “ _ Normal. _ I want _ normal.” _

Whatever that meant. 

_ Excited to see you _, she had texted Caroline, who had replied with a heart and an eye-roll emoji. 

Eight weeks. She hadn’t been alone in her house for anything near that amount of time for twelve years. Even Patricia seemed to be moping in Caroline’s absence.

Her phone buzzed. _ Landed _, Emily’s text said, and Miranda’s heart leapt. An hour and a half, maybe two, and her beloved daughter would be back where she belonged.

*

Patricia beat Miranda to the foyer, but not by much. 

“Patricia!” Caroline sputtered, her hands coming up in startled delight as the St. Bernard skidded to a halt on the marble. The big dog whuffed at Caroline’s coat before taking a step back, head tilted. She let out a low, confused rumble. 

“I must smell like camp,” Caroline stammered to Emily, who was still trying to maneuver four suitcases through the front door. 

Oh, her beautiful girl. Miranda half-wished that she, like Patricia, could barrel down the stairs. But decorum had to be maintained, didn’t it? No matter how great the joy at her daughter’s return. 

“Bobbsey,” she said, and Caroline looked up. Her freckled face paled.

“Mother,” she breathed.

The little purse she’d been carrying hit the floor, and then Caroline was charging up the last few steps. “_ Mother _,” she said again, her arms knotting almost painfully around Miranda’s waist. 

Miranda swayed with the sudden impact, reaching for the railing to keep from falling over. “Darling! My goodness. Such a display.”

“I’m sorry.” Caroline’s voice was muffled against her shoulder. “I just missed you.” Her arms tightened.

“I missed you too, Bobbsey.” Miranda planted a kiss on the top of Caroline’s head, then pulled back in surprise. “You cut your hair.”

Caroline bit her lip, blue eyes wide and uncertain. “Do you hate it?”

“Not at all.” Miranda twined a fiery lock around her forefinger. “Although I’d like to have Hannah clean it up a bit.”

The uncertain expression vanished, and Caroline grinned. “Yeah,” she said, releasing Miranda’s waist. “Yeah. Okay.”

Miranda touched her cheek. “Let’s get you unpacked.” She glanced at the foyer.

Emily grunted, heaving the suitcases behind her. “Coming,” she said. 

***

_ Emily _

If you had told the Emily Charlton of twelve years ago that she would be Miranda’s personal assistant at the age of thirty-six, the Emily Charlton of twelve years ago would likely have stabbed you with a stiletto. But that was before Caroline. Before spit-up, and diaper changes, and temper tantrums. Before Emily had found herself wound, completely and immutably, around Caroline’s chubby little finger. 

She had been told by two physicians that she’d never bear children. That was actually rather fine with her, as she had no real desire to procreate. This did not keep her from falling completely in love with Miranda’s daughter. 

She found herself volunteering, with increasing frequency, for Caroline-related duties. Found herself, when she dropped off the Book, going up to soothe a crying Caroline in Miranda’s stead. When the baby was six months old, Miranda fired the nanny and asked Emily to move in. She said yes. 

She was never exactly _ friends _ with Miranda. Never really got comfortable enough around her for late night confessions, or shared glasses of wine after a long day of work. But they got along well enough, and for Caroline, Emily would have borne much worse. 

She asked about Cassidy just before Caroline’s second birthday. She never made that mistake again. Never even thought about the other twin, really. 

At least, not until three days after Caroline’s return from music camp.

It was the _ dog _. Patricia was normally never more than five feet away from Caroline. Now, though, she kept her distance. 

“What?” Caroline said, looking up from her iPad.

Emily blinked. “Sorry?”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “You’re staring at me,” she said.

“It’s just—” Emily’s gaze flicked to Caroline’s hand. “You’re biting your nails.”

Caroline jerked her hand out of her mouth. “Um,” she said, flushing. “Bad habit. I guess I...I guess I picked it up over the summer.” 

Something pinged in Emily’s brain. Something felt _ wrong, _and the words were out before she knew it. “What on earth is going on with you?”

The flush in Caroline’s cheeks deepened. “What—what do you mean?”

“I mean—” Emily stood up. She seen Caroline nearly every day of the girl’s life. She knew every mood, every eyelash, every freckle. And something was _ not right _.

She felt her pulse pick up. Impossible. It was impossible.

“You’re leaving your clothes on the floor,” Emily said, taking a step toward Caroline. “You sing to yourself.”

Caroline bit her lip. “I changed a lot at camp, I guess.”

“It’s almost as if you’re—” No. Miranda would have known. _ Surely. _ She shook her head. Turned away.

And then Caroline’s voice behind her, very small. “Almost as if I were who, Emily?” she said. 

“Never mind,” Emily said. 

“Almost as if I were—” A pause. “Cassidy?”

Emily froze.

Two. There had been two.

She turned around. Very, very slowly.

“How—” she said, her voice the barest whisper. “How do you know about Cassidy?”

Caroline gulped.

“I am Cassidy,” she said.

***

_ Cassidy _

“You have to tell her,” Emily says.

I know I do. She doesn’t have to _ lecture _ me. It was always part of the plan. I just wasn’t expecting it to be this soon. 

“I will,” I snap, sounding mean, and she flinches. Caroline told me that Emily is almost a second mom. I think about the way my own mom reacts when I’m mean to her, and I feel bad. 

“Sorry,” I say, mumbling.

She gives me a narrow look and goes back to chopping. Caroline said that she learned how to cook specifically to make baby food for her. Caroline was _ spoiled _. 

I’ve been thinking about what it would have been like if they’d switched us the other way. If I’d grown up with Mother, and Caroline with Mom. But imagining my life without Mom makes me feel weird and uneasy.

It’s not fair. We should have had them _ both _.

I don’t want to tell her. Not yet. When she looks at me, I feel like the only person in the world. I love her so much already and I’ve only known her since Saturday. But Emily figured it out, and Caroline said that Emily is really bad at keeping secrets.

“Tomorrow,” I say, reaching over to grab a chunk of carrot before the knife comes down again. “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”

*

Unfortunately for me, I don’t get to wait. 

Caroline said she isn’t allowed to have any social media accounts. But Mother doesn’t really know how to use Instagram. I download the app and see that Caroline has messaged from my own account. 

_ 911 _ , it says. _ Mom is GETTING MARRIED _.

WHAT?!

*

“Mother?”

The door is open, but I stay in the hall. She’s so pretty, even without makeup. Her room looks like something out of a magazine. 

“Come in, Bobbsey,” she says, looking up from her laptop. She smiles. 

If it were Mom, I would barrel toward the bed and dive under the covers. I don’t know what’s allowed here. It seems like she can tell, because she pats the bed next to her. I crawl up, pulling my knees to my chest. 

“What’s wrong?” The smile fades a little. She looks worried.

I look at my ragged nails. “I have to go out of town tomorrow,” I tell her.

This gets a little laugh. “Oh?” she says, “and where, may I ask, are you going?” Her voice is playful, and I can’t take it any more. I duck down and pull the blanket over my head.

I feel her hand on the top of my head. “Caroline,” she says. 

“That’s where I have to go!” I yell into the pillow. “I have to go see Caroline!”

“Oh?” That little laugh again. “And where might Caroline be?”

I shut my eyes tight. Here goes nothing.

“In Napa,” I say, “with her mom, Andy Sachs.”

***

_ Miranda _

Everything stopped.

Her laughter. Her movement. Her heart. _ Time _. 

She pulled the blanket off Caroline’s head. Two wide blue eyes, looking up at her from a face filled with apprehension. 

“You’re not Caroline,” she whispered.

The blue eyes blinked. And then an answer, hoarse with terror, in a voice that was both Caroline’s and not. “That would be correct.”

Miranda’s eyes began to burn. Her heart had started beating again, and it seemed that it was overcompensating for its lack of movement a moment prior. “You’re Cassidy,” she managed to say.

Cassidy sat up. Lifted her chin, though her eyes were brimming with tears. “I am,” she said. “Caroline and I met at the camp and we decided to switch places. I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “But I’d never seen you, and I’d dreamt of meeting you my whole life. And Caroline felt the exact same way about Mom.”

Oh, darling girl. The one I thought I’d never see again. Stranger with Caroline’s face. Miranda’s heart felt like it might shatter. 

Cassidy was still talking, faster now, fear evident on her face. “We just sort of..sort of switched lives. I hope you’re not mad at me because I love you so much and I hope you can love me as me. And not...and not as Caroline.”

Miranda snapped back to herself. Looked at the daughter she’d given up, and folded her into her arms.

“I have loved you,” she whispered into Cassidy’s ear, “all your life.”

*

They had to be switched back, obviously, although the thought of it nearly wrenched Miranda’s heart from her chest. Now that Cassidy was here—now that they’d met each other—it was unthinkable that they could go back to the way things had been. Miranda was having a hard time remembering how they’d come up with this insane plan in the first place.

Cassidy hadn’t wanted to tell Andrea they were coming, which was ridiculous, of course. There were legal matters to think of, for one thing, and for another, she was not about to walk back into Andrea’s life without some warning. Although she was at a loss for how, exactly, to break the news that each of them had the wrong twin.

“I’ll tell her,” Cassidy volunteered. She seemed much more at ease now that she was no longer pretending to be Caroline. 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Miranda said. 

Cassidy shrugged. “She might already know.”

***

_ Caroline _

“Mom’s been crying for two hours,” I tell Cassidy that evening. 

Cassidy laughs. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“I could barely get away to call you,” I add. Mother _ never _cries.

“Get used to it,” Cassidy says. “You should see her during Christmas. Wells up at every commercial.”

“She hugs a lot,” I say, and although this is definitely unfamiliar, I find that it’s not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. 

“Yeah. I miss that. Mother...doesn’t.”

That’s an understatement. “When do you get here?” I ask her. I’m not quite ready to give Mom up, but I am also terribly homesick.

“Tomorrow night,” Cassidy says. She doesn’t sound that excited, either. “I can’t believe she’s getting married.”

I make a face. “He’s _ awful _,” I say. “All teeth and talk. I don’t know what she sees in him.”

“Yeah, well.” Cassidy’s voice sounds grimly determined. “She won’t see it for much longer, if I have anything to do with it.”

***

_ Andy _

Andy couldn’t stop crying, and Caroline was, at this point, probably convinced that her mom was completely unhinged. She’d gone to bed an hour ago, and all Andy had managed to do was move to the hall outside her room and cry some more. Christian had called twice. Andy let it go to voicemail.

Caroline. Asleep eight feet away.

The weeks and months after their birth had been a waking nightmare. Andy had regretted the decision as soon as she’d signed the paperwork. She’d cobbled the pieces of her life back together, but she’d never stopped aching for the daughter she’d lost.

Cassidy would be here tomorrow. Both of them. _ Together _. The thought made the tears start anew.

*

She fell asleep just before one AM. And sat straight up at 1:01 when she realized that she’d be seeing Miranda, too.

*

“Wear the black one,” Caroline said.

Andy turned around. Caroline—and how could she have ever thought this was Cassidy?—was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her.

“You think so?” Andy said. She held up the red dress, examined herself in the mirror. 

Behind her, Caroline shook her head.

“Mother prefers a simple silhouette,” she said, with a prim little nod. Before Andy could sputter a response, she had disappeared back into Cassidy’s room.

*

Thirty minutes. 

Then twenty. Fifteen. Ten.

“Mom.” Caroline was staring at her. “You’re making me nervous.”

“_ I’m _ nervous,” Andy said, but she sat down. “Now where are they?”

Caroline checked Cassidy’s phone. “Five miles.” 

Five miles. Eight minutes, maybe nine, and they’d be together. All four of them, in one room, the way Andy had dreamed they’d be the moment she’d seen those two little heartbeats on the ultrasound screen. Before the yelling, and the fighting, and the slammed doors and icy silences. 

Andy felt her eyes start to sting. “You know,” she said, swallowing hard, “I haven’t seen the two of you together since the day you were born.” 

Cassidy, used to Andy’s emotions, would have rolled her eyes and said something snide. Caroline, though, just nodded. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.”

***

_ Cassidy _

Caroline’s on the porch. Giant grin and waving with both hands as we pull up. Mother has gotten very, very quiet. 

I whip the door open the second the Uber driver puts it in park. 

“Cassidy—” Mother says behind me, but Caroline is whooping and I am too excited to do anything but sprint up the steps and hug my sister. We did it. We pulled it off. They’re together, and so are we.

Caroline spins me around, then seizes my wrist and drags me toward the door. “Let’s leave ‘em alone,” she says out of the corner of her mouth, even though Mother is just now stepping out of the car and Mom is nowhere to be seen.

But then the front door opens. 

I haven’t seen her in eight weeks and four days, but it feels like eight months. Like I’m a different person. Like we both are.

She’s wearing the one fancy dress she owns—the black one, the one she got when she went to Paris with Mother before we were born. She put on makeup, but it’s already running down her cheeks. My heart hurts, suddenly, seeing her. I glance back at Mother, who is standing stone-still in the driveway.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.

But then she opens her arms, and takes a step toward us, and the next thing I know I’m hugging my sister and my mom at the exact same time and I have never, ever been happier in my life. 

When she pulls back, her makeup really is wrecked, and Caroline is sniffling. 

“Both of you,” Mom says, wiping Caroline’s tears with her thumb. “Oh, my girls. Both of you.”

There’s a creak. I turn. I have almost forgotten about Mother. 

She’s standing behind us, her hands clasped together at her waist. Her face is so pale I think she might faint.

Mom’s arms around us loosen and fall. She straightens up. I feel Caroline’s hand slide from my wrist. A second later, her fingers tangle with mine. 

“Come on,” she hisses, and pulls me inside.

***

_ Miranda _

She hadn’t thought it would hurt this much. 

Two redheaded girls, spinning and whooping on the porch, each momentarily indistinguishable from the other. She recognized her daughter—_ no _, she corrected herself. They were both her daughters. 

And then the front door opened, and Andrea stepped out.

She didn’t see Miranda. Not right away. She hugged both girls, touched their faces, marveled at them the way Miranda never could. In that, at least, she had not changed. 

When Miranda ascended to the porch, the stair creaked, and Andrea noticed her at last. She went white. Loosed her grip on the girls and stood. 

Miranda was dimly aware of Cassidy whispering to Caroline—or was it the other way around?—and then both girls were disappearing into the house, and it then it was just Andrea. Just Andrea, barefoot, wearing the dress Miranda had taken off her in Paris.

“Hi,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Andrea.” Miranda’s throat felt as though it was lined with cotton. “You look well.”

A blurt of watery laughter. Andrea smoothed the front of the dress with both hands. “Thanks,” she said. “I mean. So do you.”

It was the laugh that broke her. She could have dealt with Andrea angry, or sad, or even pretending that the past twelve years hadn’t happened. But that little sound, simultaneously mournful and bright, sliced through Miranda’s heart like a butcher knife. She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Andrea’s hand on her arm. 

“Come on,” Andrea said gently. The diamond on her left hand flashed as she moved. “Come inside.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to leave this here because you all have left such lovely comments, but if you want a continuation of this AU, it’s now its own story: a sunday kind of love ! xoxo


	9. subreality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I was a wee tiny child writing terrible x-men fic decades ago, there was a multiverse hangout on cfan built by kielle called the subreality cafe. this lil chapter is unrelated to gravity. just an excuse to go back there for a minute because nostalgia.
> 
> also I’ve recently become obsessed with suits

9\. subreality

It’s a lot emptier these days. 

It looks the same—scuffed bartop, low yellow lights, jumble of bottles half-full—but there are hardly any patrons perched on the cracked red barstools, and the young woman serving drinks barely looks up when Andy walks in.

“Get ya?” she says in a bored voice.

“Um.” Andy looks at the peeling labels of the bottles behind the bar. “Guinness, I guess.”

She cracks her gum. “Can only.”

“Sure.” 

The girl pushes up the sleeves of her yellow jacket and drops out of view for a moment. When she stands again, she’s holding an opened can of Guinness.

“Eight fifty.” She cracks the gum again.

Andy slides a ten across the bar. Has to ask, because she’s  _ sure _ she’s seen this girl before. “You didn’t work here ten years ago, did you?”

The girl grins, flashing pointed incisors, and winks at Andy.

“Don’t try it,” a voice to her left advises. “You should see her boyfriend.”

Andy turns to see a baby-faced guy in a suit two stools down, all big blue eyes and spiky hair. He’s swirling a glass of something golden-brown.

“Scotch,” he says. “Bad scotch.”

“I wouldn’t know good.”

“Neither would I, a year ago.” The guy tips his glass toward her. “Mike.”

“Andy.” Andy stretches to tap her can against the glass. 

“You’re not the usual clientele,” Mike says, raising an eyebrow, sliding over to sit next to her.

Andy tilts her head. “I could say the same about you. Tom Ford?”

“How’d you know?” Mike looks down at his suit.

“I used to know a guy,” Andy says.

Mike sighs. “Didn’t we all.”

She sees something familiar in his expression, and it emboldens her. “What’s his name?”

Shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Fight?” Andy asks.

Another shrug, this one resigned. “You could say that.”

“At least he knows you exist,” Andy says.

“Oh,” Mike says, draining his glass, “he definitely knows.”

“That’s more than I can say for mine.” Andy wiggles the pop-tab on her can.

Mike looks her up and down. “He’s an idiot,” he says.

“She,” Andy says, “and thanks.”

“We could swap,” Mike suggests, a wry smile at the corners of his mouth. “You talk to mine. I’ll talk to yours.”

Andy snorts. “If I thought that would work...”

“Self-centered dickhead?” Mike asks.

“Emotionally unavailable tyrant,” Andy replies. “To love,” she adds, tapping her can against his glass again.

“Cheers,” Mike says.


End file.
